


Love's Not Time's Fool Part II Ch.1

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the times that try men's souls."<br/>One year post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Not Time's Fool Part II Ch.1

                                                             
  
_**Where we left off:**_

Brian attended Justin’s first art show at the Circle Gallery in New York. With too much tension between them, the meeting didn't go well. On the verge of leaving each other for good, Brian yelled to Justin from his cab that he was going to McSorley’s Bar.

                                                                               
  
          The scuffed wooden plank floors, unmistakable smell of booze, and rowdy patrons gave McSorley’s a typical New York City atmosphere. With most of the regulars already strategically positioned at the bar, a secondary cast of characters filled the scattered tables in the front section.  
  
           Brian paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness as waitresses scurried back and forth with overloaded trays of food and drink. He asked to be seated away from the noise and was led through a maze of occupied dark wood and low domed lighting.  
  
           He started with beer, fully aware the amount of uncertainty in a high-risk situation had a major effect on the outcome. If they were to have any semblance of a normal conversation, he had to keep a clear head. Although the distinct possibility of rejection made it tempting to run like the chicken shit coward he was, the fellowship of ghosts that had accompanied his memories the past year provided ample motivation not to flee. If necessary, he would stay until the bar closed. He was committed. He didn’t know it then, but he had been from their first night.  
  
                                                                                                                          
_“So here I am with open arms, hoping you’ll see what your love means to me.”_ _©CainPerry_  
  
           He couldn't stop looking at his watch. But only for the time, nothing else. It wasn't that he was worried. He just didn't know—whether Justin would show or what the outcome would be.  
  
* * *  
           Justin told the cab driver to let him out two blocks from McSorley's. The flurry of activity before he left the gallery hadn't given him time to process the evening, and he needed to think, to dissect everything that had happened. But instead of insight, each footstep asked another question, raised another doubt. Anxiety made the short walk exhausting. Skin slicked with a film of sweat, he shivered when a blast of wind infiltrated the nooks and crannies of his jacket.  
  
           More nervous than his first trip to Liberty Avenue, he slowed his pace as he closed the distance. The next few minutes or hours would determine his life, his happiness. With such high stakes, a decision based solely on lust or desperation would not only be counter-productive, it would also ruin any chance of a life together. He couldn’t let the past cloud his thinking in the present because it would taint his future. There had to be a clean slate. The cracks in their relationship had widened to the point that a simple patch and paint wouldn’t suffice.  
  
_“We’re not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again.”_ _©Bhasker,Moore,Ruess_  
  
           Bracing himself for the encounter, he blew out a whoosh of air and pushed open the weathered door. Instantly engulfed in a wave of sound and scent, the sensory chaos left him breathless. The combined aromas of sizzling meat and savory spices flooded him with memories of the diner, rocking him with a déjà-vu that nearly knocked him off his feet.  
      
                                                                                                            
  
         He brushed off the nostalgia and scanned the area without a glimmer of interest toward the tête-a-tête couples in booths or the two-deep crowd at the bar and zeroed in on a man in the back. Having ditched his tie and jacket, Brian blended with the casual atmosphere. But he was still impossible to miss. People shouldn’t be allowed to look that good, he thought. It was unhealthy for the general population. He eyed an icy mug of froth-topped liquid in front of an empty chair. “Were you that sure I'd show up?”  
                                                                                                    
          Candlelight danced across the handsome face. With gentle shadows softening the hard angles and transforming the hazel eyes into liquid gold, Brian motioned for him to sit down. “Truth or dare?"

                                                                                     
  
         “Truth.” Despite the fragile situation, his lips twitched.  
  
         “Not really.” Brian waved to the waitress. She blew by, barely slowing to take his request for a refill. “But I was hoping.”

 _But I was hoping you'd find me first._  
  
Resisting the urge to brush away a stray lock of chestnut hair, he lowered his eyes and fiddled with a napkin. He gritted his teeth against the uncomfortableness between them, at what the lengthy and frequent separations had brought to the surface. After a pensive sip of beer, he removed the white mustache with a swipe of his tongue and commented offhandedly, “So you’re in New York on business.”  
  
         “That’s what I said.” The expression and voice were pure deadpan.  
  
         “How long?” He tried to be nonchalant but knew, just _knew_ how pitiful he sounded.  
  
         “My flight’s on Tuesday.”  
  
         “Oh.” Nervous fingers methodically shredded the paper into narrow strips. Tuesday? The day after tomorrow? Rattled by the short time, he ordered another drink in between healthy swallows of his first. He had to change the subject. If he didn’t, he risked a queen-out of epic proportions or the embarrassment of throwing himself on Brian’s lap and sobbing. “How’s Kinnetik? Your plan for world domination going as planned?”  
  
         “What do you think, with the blonde dominatrix and Caspar MilqueTed handling the operation?”  
  
         “That answers my first question. What about the second?”  
  
         “The jury’s out on that one.” Brian gave a noncommittal shrug and segued, “How’d it go tonight? Did you sell out?”  
  
         “Wishful thinking. Four and deposits for two.”  
  
         “Pretty damn impressive. Congratulations.”  
  
         “Thanks. Sofia said first shows usually don’t do that well. She’s already pushing me for more work.”  
  
         “You up for that?”  
  
          He had an eye roll ready at what he assumed was sexual innuendo, but the surreptitious peek at his hand told him otherwise. “As long as I pace myself, it’s okay.”  
  
        “She’s hot.”  
  
        “I’ll be sure to add your name to her list of admirers. She’s also smart as hell about art. I don’t think I could have—” His sigh spoke volumes. “She’s been a good friend.”  
  
        “As your fame spreads far and wide, you’ll have a fag hag in every city you live in.” Brian grabbed his mug and choked out a laugh. “So, how’s Hanging Chad? Is he hung? What’s his deal?”  
  
                                                                                                                   
   
          He was too on edge not to strike back. The past year had taken its toll and left its mark. “His _deal_ is that he’s a guy who doesn’t screw with my head, who wants a steady relationship, who doesn’t have issues about commitment. I can go on if you want.”  
  
_“I need a lover who won’t drive me crazy.”_ _©J. Mellencamp_  
  
         “You made your point.” Brian’s mouth tightened into a pencil-thin line. “He’s the perfect boyfriend.  Spare me the rest of the disgusting details. How long?”  
  
         “Only a couple of months. It was kind of like right time, right place, motive and opportunity. I know you’re familiar with the concept.” He raised his shoulders. “It’s been over for a while, but we’ve stayed friends.” His so-called love life and the reasons for its demise were the last subjects he wanted to discuss. He hated being curious, remembering his mother’s often used cliché about curiosity killing the cat, but he hated not knowing more. “And you?”  
  
         “Me? You’re joking. You think because I went through something once, I’d want to go through it again?” Brian snickered. “I thought you were ‘on to me.’”  
  
         “I—Never mind.”  
  
         With both unwilling to push further, a pall hung over them like a shroud. They looked at everyone and everything except each other, pretending they didn’t notice or feel the connection. Prompted by courage or idiocy—he didn’t know which—he blurted, “Why didn’t you call or email?” He drew in a sharp breath, horrified by his outburst.  
  
         “I’m here now.”  
  
         “Yeah, on business. Right.”

                                                                                              * * *  
  
          The irritated and audible puff of air woke the sleeping beast. Brian leveled a stare that could have frozen all the fire in hell. “Tell you what. Let’s not do this any more.” He released his death grip on his glass and slammed it on the table. Like indigestion from a bad meal, how many times would they regurgitate the same subject? “I’m fucking tired of dancing around with you.”   
  
           He signaled for another round. They had been keeping their waitress busy. His gaze drilled into Justin with the force of a power tool. “Why did you leave?”

                                                                                
  
          He might as well have rung the bell at a boxing match. Gentlemen, touch gloves and come out fighting. Experience had taught him to stay silent once he threw down the gauntlet. If he said anything else, he’d wind up leaning into the first punch. So he sipped his fresh beer and waited for the fangs and claws.  
  
_“Both of us knowing love is a battlefield.”_ _©Knight/Chapman_

 

 **Continue here:** <http://archiveofourown.org/works/1187745>

 

 


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